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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23049427">This Is The Chase</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasing_givenchy/pseuds/chasing_givenchy'>chasing_givenchy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Succession (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Backstory, Banter, Cameos By Every Overpaid Member Of Waystar's Management, Evil People Finding Comfort In Each Other, F/M, Post-Canon, Scheming, office politics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 05:54:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,739</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23049427</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasing_givenchy/pseuds/chasing_givenchy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Mole Woman (09:15)</strong> You look like it’s past bedtime for you.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:16)</strong> Are you kidding me? Your prune of a date’s not beating me in the stamina department tonight.<br/><strong>Mole Woman (09:16)</strong> It’s not a competition.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:17)</strong> It is /so/ a competition. Someone's gonna stand up any second now and announce ‘I AM SPARTACUS’.</p><p>In the aftermath of the press conference, Rock Star and Mole Woman team up to try to save the company. Featuring: Gerri putting her career ahead of a man, ill treatment of Shakespeare, and Roman still not knowing how to sit normally in a chair.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy, Kendall Roy &amp; Roman Roy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>New Year's Resolutions 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This Is The Chase</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/gifts">LearnedFoot</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>From:</strong> nanpierce@pmg.com<br/><strong>To:</strong> g.kellman@waystarroyco.com<br/><strong>Sub:</strong> Mistress, what cheer?<br/>You know, the eye of the storm’s a difficult place to be. How are you holding up? Watching the news together is a sort of family past-time here, and we all thought you acquitted yourself marvellously in that press conference. As befits the next CEO, naturally.</p><p><strong>From:</strong> g.kellman@waystarroyco.com<br/><strong>To:</strong> nanpierce@pmg.com<br/><strong>Re:</strong> Mistress, what cheer?<br/>Well Kendall’s never been a hard to act follow. I didn’t know you watched so much ATN.</p><p><strong>From:</strong> nanpierce@pmg.com<br/><strong>To:</strong> g.kellman@waystarroyco.com<br/><strong>Re: Re:</strong> Mistress, what cheer?<br/>I don’t, but one makes exceptions for old friends. I might even have to think about buying stock. It’s at an all-time low, isn’t it? Oh, and your new pearls were especially lovely. I believe Cartier unveiled them only last week? I don’t keep up with such things but Marnie happened to notice.</p><p><strong>From:</strong> g.kellman@waystarroyco.com<br/><strong>To:</strong> nanpierce@pmg.com<br/><strong>Re: Re: Re:</strong> Mistress, what cheer?<br/>Thanks. The necklace was a gift. And I’m sure there’s something in the Sherman Act about you putting your dollar into Waystar. I can drum something up for you if you’re having trouble finding it.</p><p><strong>From:</strong> nanpierce@pmg.com<br/><strong>To:</strong> g.kellman@waystarroyco.com<br/><strong>Re: Re: Re: Re:</strong> Mistress, what cheer?<br/>Ha ha ha. Always a lawyer!</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>WAYSTAR ROYCO SHAREHOLDER MEETING POSTPONED</strong>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Following industry predictions, Waystar Royco, the multimedia conglomerate facing Senate committee hearings and litigation against its top management, has pushed back its upcoming shareholder meeting by another week. What is surprising about the move is that it was decided by a resolution by postal ballot, receiving 85% approval. Waystar is currently facing a proxy fight spearheaded by board member Stewy Hosseini and corporate raider Sandy Furness. The resolution could not have succeeded without their vote, which suggests that talks are underway to reach a mutually acceptable solution.</p>
  <p>These rumours have been bolstered by meetings between Hosseini and Waystar COO Roman Roy (a position he formerly shared with brother Kendall Roy, until the “Co-” prefix was removed without comment).</p>
  <p>It is to be noted that the situation is mainly strife with speculation, and very little information is forthcoming from within the company itself. Founder Logan Roy has been unavailable for comment since he was named chief conspirator in a “culture of suppression” of illegal activity in the company’s Cruises division by his own son. Head of the Cruises Division Tom Wambsgans is cited as being “on sabbatical” as per the company’s website. Waystar continues to decline to name a CEO, but insiders say that there is documentation in favour of Gerri Kellman, the current General Counsel…</p>
</blockquote><p>***</p><p>Gerri’s father used to say that war is hell, so wear good shoes.</p><p>If only he could see hers now. He had meant that they should be sturdy and rubber-soled, but Gerri’s taste has lapped around the small Carolina backwater she grew up in. She’s had to give up her five-inch-spikes with the ubiquitous Louboutin red bottoms; her back threw in the towel long before she wanted to. Her new Steve Maddens still have block heels hard enough to grind bone-thick ignorance underfoot.</p><p>Roman is watching her from across the conference room in a way that suggests he can read her mind. That <em>he</em> wouldn’t mind getting ground underfoot.</p><p>His company is <em>on fire</em>.</p><p>He should be paying attention to Karl, who cuts a tired-looking figure at the head of the table. Waystar is over three billion dollars in the red. It’s a bad time to be the CFO.</p><p>“Our best bet,” Karl is saying, “is to keep looking for that white knight investor. We came close—too close—to it once. We can do it again. Blackstone has an aggressive engineering division and a lot of vision…”</p><p>Roman shifts noisily in his reclining leather chair and raises his hand. “Um, question. Do I have to get taken hostage by foreign terrorists <em>again</em> for this plan to work? Because it’s a pretty fucking terrible experience, I’d give it one star on Yelp.”</p><p>Karl’s jaw visibly clenches.</p><p>“The other option,” he says flatly, “is bringing on more debt. Bloat Waystar so much that it’s not worth Sandy’s while to push for a hostile takeover.”</p><p><em>That’s a terrible plan</em>, Gerri thinks. Like a medieval contessa disfiguring her face so that the horny king will stop pursuing her hand in marriage. It’s disheartening how some things are universal: <em>the ugly girl never gets asked to the prom</em>.</p><p>At Karl’s elbow, invisible in the shadow of the projector, Hugo clears his throat. “If I may… We’re facing a two-pronged problem at the moment. Logan’s not here, so people are instantly more interested in dealing with us. On the other hand, <em>Logan isn’t here</em> and neither is half the management.”</p><p>Hugo Baker has spent so long on the outskirts of the company, flourishing in a n0-man’s-land, that he’s forgotten how to play the corporate game. His glee is so poorly disguised that he might as well have scraped a match down his own stubbled cheek, and tossed it onto the powder keg.</p><p>“Well, how about we <em>make</em> some new management?” demands Roman while Karl bleats about quarterly projections in the background.</p><p>“I agree,” says Hugo, beaming.  “There’s a lot of slots to fill. Which means there are gifts we can offer to outsiders.”</p><p>“Excuse me,” says Frank, ever the once-burnt-twice-shy voice of reason, “but I think that’s how we got into this mess in the first place.”</p><p><em>We</em> <em>got into this mess</em>, thinks Gerri, <em>because a man named “Mo” Lester McLintock was allowed to schtup whatever he wanted, and Logan wiped his bum for him afterwards when he was done</em>.</p><p>Cyd is definitely not listening. Cheek propped against one hand, she’s desultorily scrolling through her phone. She’s still in charge of news, even though this is a prime opportunity to jettison Cruises and put her at the helm of the entire TV division.</p><p>Meanwhile, there’s a CFO, a COO, an ex-COO, and a glorified Cruises flunky, and Gerri had never appreciated before how many men are talking at any given time in this room.</p><p>“Is no one going to come out and state the fucking obvious here?” says Roman loudly. He has one knee balanced against the conference table, and his eyes are on Gerri. She has to pretend that she finds Karl fascinating. “This is a prime opportunity for in-house promotions. Time to reward the bobbleheads that’ve stuck with us for this long. <em>Like Gerri</em>.”</p><p>The room goes silent and heads swivel slowly in her direction. Her pearls sit around her neck on a string that’s silently tightening. She keeps her eyes fixed on Karl, on the depressing little PowerPoint projected on the wall behind him. She acts like she didn’t see this coming.</p><p>“Well, what about her?” drawls Cyd from three chairs down the table. “We’ve done this dance enough times. Either come or get off the damn bed.”</p><p>“<em>Well</em>,” echoes Roman, leaning forward on his elbows now, “it’s <em>self-explanatory</em>.”</p><p>Gerri’s pulse is racing; she might almost be sick. She does <em>not</em> want Roman to fight this battle. Not for her. Not like this. She tilts her head as if she doesn’t feel them all gawking at her. Her eyes are hooded and blank when she finally meets Roman’s gaze.</p><p>He leans forward imperceptibly in his seat, an arrow being nocked on a bow.</p><p>“It’s <em>self-explanatory</em>,” he says, “that this company has a shit record with rewarding merit. I mean, Frank? What’s he even doing back here?”</p><p>Hands tucked into his armpits, Frank just keeps his head bowed and doesn’t rise to the bait.</p><p>“Or Jamie. Actually, fuck Jamie. Look at Rhea.”</p><p>If Gerri had a metaphorical hand clamped over her eyes all this time, she finally feels brave enough to part her fingers and peek through.</p><p>“We attract talent. That’s a fact. But we have no fucking idea how to retain it.”</p><p>“What’s your point, kid?” asks Cyd, a dangerous edge crawling into her tone. Roman has just announced that anyone worth their salt doesn’t get a promotion in Waystar. To the cream of the managerial cadre.</p><p>Everyone knows he’s either talking about <em>them</em>, or he’s going to bat for Gerri.</p><p>Gerri doesn’t want everyone to know he’s going to bat for Gerri.</p><p>“Roman,” she says, sweet and placid before this can escalate. “Advancement opportunities are item no. 16 on the meeting agenda.” <em>Defensive manoeuvres against the takeover</em> are item nos. 1 to 14, and 15 is figuring out who’ll be footing the bill for the new yacht. “I’m sure your little friend from management training will get a fair hearing once we get to it.”</p><p>Cyd snorts, attention flicking down to her phone again.</p><p>Karl deflates like an elephant plush toy that’s starting to lose some of its stuffing. Only Karolina (invitee by special resolution to the meeting) furrows her brow and asks, “Brian, was it?” because HR ultimately reports to her. “We’ll get on that. Don’t worry, Rome.”</p><p>The meeting goes back to discussing the company’s books. Gerri picks up her Schafer pen just in case someone says something worth noting down.</p><p>She can feel Roman’s eyes on her. Kicked puppy hurt, because he’s always been the first to defend her when the sharks converge.</p><p>She’s spent this past year returning the favour. She’s been doing this for him long before he even started. So she doesn’t owe anyone the privilege of being her white knight. She silently absorbs the fact that Waystar’s debts are a decimal point short of the GDP of a midsize country, and doesn’t glance at her phone when it buzzes on the table.</p><p>*</p><p>Roman dives into the lift just as it's about to close with only Gerri inside. “Wait up,” he says, pushing a floor button at random. Gerri stifles a groan. “Can we—I dunno, <em>talk</em>?”</p><p>The red eye of the camera is watching them patiently. It records the way Roman is lounging against a wall, shoulder nearly touching Gerri’s. The way Gerri’s arm nearly bumps his when she shrugs.</p><p>For a second of grainy, black-and-white footage nothing happens, but Gerri is watching the way Roman’s face goes still and he measures his words. He’s changed since he came back from Turkey. After a long minute he says, “What’s happening is bullshit and we both know it. It’s a whole pointless rub and tug when <em>clearly</em> the best decision would be to name you CEO and be done with it.”</p><p>They won’t, as Gerri knows, because they’re still hoping to keep the position vacant. It’s a good bargaining chip that they can offer to someone else. Someone whose money they desperately need.</p><p>Gerri grew up southern without being a belle. Her first job was stapling papers and writing memos in a dot com company based optimistically in Chicago, while she studied for her JD. She didn’t spend a dollar on anything but rent and food during her first month there. She used to cook her own meals in an apartment so small that the shower smelt of tomato sauce for days afterwards. That JD took her to Houston, from where Waystar plucked her out of dubious obscurity. <em>New York’s expensive</em>, they told her, <em>so if you work hard and sell your soul, you get some pretty nifty ESOPs</em>.</p><p>Waystar has always paid their legal team well. Gerri spent every cent of her first paycheque from them, and she got herself a whole lot more than a boiled chicken and six heads of broccoli. Waystar has pruned away her habit of keeping a list of purchases in a notebook. She doesn’t need to furtively go to her mobile banking app to know that she’s got more money now than three generations of her family put together. And it’s still just a drop in the ocean of what she would need to have a real say in Roman’s father’s company.</p><p>The interesting thing about money is that nobody has an intuitive grasp of how much a billion really <em>is</em>.</p><p>The elevator dings and the doors swish open. Gerri extricates herself from Roman’s personal space.</p><p>“There’s a plan in place,” she reminds him. “We agreed to stick to the plan.”</p><p>“Fuck the plan,” says Roman. “Plans <em>should</em> change.”</p><p>In some ways, Roman hasn’t changed at all. Too bad that <em>she</em> has.</p><p>Stepping out of the elevator, she still pauses to block the door with one hand. “We can’t pull ourselves out of this without outside help.” <em>Say hi to your brother for me</em>. “A title like ‘CEO’, it only means what we want it to. It’s worth a lot to people who aren’t you and me.”</p><p>He makes a strangled little noise of frustration. He knows she’s right.</p><p>“Go back to work, Roman. All this means squat if we don’t have an office to come to next week.”</p><p>He leans forward, and she pulls back her hand. The elevator doors close over the torn look on Roman’s face.</p><p>***</p><p>Gerri doesn’t get home until some ten hours later. She tosses off her jewellery and snuggles into her silk pajamas. She curses every member of the Roy family in her head as she climbs into her couch and queues up <em>Bon Appetit Test Kitchen</em>. She doesn’t enjoy the new episode as much as she normally would have.</p><p>She considers getting up to find her phone. The battery’s nearly drained from the number of calls she’s had to take on the commute home. She doesn’t want to be tethered to a wall, waiting for it to finish charging while she levels up on Candy Crush Saga.</p><p>She ends up going to bed just to avoid thinking about her problems.</p><p>*</p><p>The shrilling of the intercom wakes her up at two in the morning. It’s building security, informing her that a “deranged-looking junkie” has shown up in the foyer and is desperate to meet her. Gerri fumbles to switch on the bedside lamp and find her glasses.</p><p>Maybe if she can <em>see </em>properly, the rest of the world will make sense.</p><p>“<em>Fuck you, man</em>,” an indignant voice tells the concierge. “<em>That’s my brother you’re talking about</em>.”</p><p>To be fair, all of the Roy sons look like PSAs against different stages of substance abuse.</p><p>“Sorry about the confusion, ma’am,” the concierge says into the intercom. “This guy says he’s Roman Roy.”</p><p>And this is why Gerri doesn’t tell people where she lives.</p><p>“I can, ahem, <em>escort</em> these two gentlemen out if you like, ma’am.”</p><p>She’s tempted, she really is. But her father was a Bible belt preacher, and he’d have a lot to say about giving in to temptation.</p><p>When Roman arrives outside her apartment door, he <em>does</em> look slightly… wild-eyed. His colouring has gone ashen, mouth drawn, and his right hand jerks at his side like he’s just barely suppressed the antsy urge to run it through his hair.</p><p>“Gerri.” He meshes himself against the door jamb, losing all pretence of looking casual. “Thank fuck. You’re alive.”</p><p>Her glasses are sitting crooked on her nose, but she doesn’t need clear vision to see the tension etched on his face.</p><p>“Yes, well, rumours of my death <em>have</em> been greatly exaggerated,” she says.</p><p>Three steps behind Roman, lurking like a shadow, is Kendall.</p><p>This is not the tall, unrepentant Kendall of the press conference; the one who forcibly reminded her of how often she forgets he’s actually six-foot-one. This Kendall is smirking at his brother’s expense as if he’s an overpaid babysitter indulging a moron.</p><p>Which he is. <em>So good job with that one, babysitter</em>. This situation is exactly what someone like Kendall would find funny. It makes Gerri feel very, very bad for his ex-wife. It’s been a while since she’s seen Raka anywhere.</p><p>“You, uh, weren’t, answering your phone,” says Kendall by way of explanation. His gaze slides slyly in Roman’s direction, corner of his mouth twitching. “Somebody got worried.”</p><p>Roman folds his arms, glowering. “No shit. This is <em>not</em> the time for our general counsel to wash up dead in the Hudson.”</p><p>“I’m touched, boys. It’s like I’m a real person who’s a part of this conversation.”</p><p>“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” asks Roman, quieter this time. He rises on his toes, trying to peer over her shoulder into the apartment. Her hallway has a Thomas Hart Benton but it doesn’t boast of a discarded man’s shirt, a forgotten lacy bra, or whatever other breadcrumbs he might be thinking of. She moves coolly to block his view.</p><p>“Because I was busy, Roman. It happens.”</p><p>“I thought you’d—you know—”</p><p><em>What</em>, she thinks in exasperation. <em>What is it that you’re so afraid I’ve been doing</em>?</p><p>“—gone to, say, a nice dinner.”</p><p>Gerri’s teeth grind together. She’s put up with a lot from this family (it’s the true price of her stock options) but moral policing is where she draws the line. She used to think Roman was above that.</p><p>“A <em>dinner</em>.”</p><p>“Yeah. With Sandy. Or something. You know they’re courting. They’re sniffing around to see who they can leverage. Fucking vultures.”</p><p>Gerri is suddenly very confused.</p><p>“What?” she asks faintly. “You’re not letting me get my full nine hours because you think I’ve got another <em>job offer</em>?”</p><p>Kendall kicks Roman’s ankle. “Told you.”</p><p>Roman smacks him away without even looking. “You’re serious?” he asks Gerri, eyes wide.</p><p>She doesn’t know if this conversation is a testament to her supposed loyalty to Waystar. Maybe it’s an indictment of her stupidity. A smart person would have jumped ship by now.</p><p>“Roman, it’s after midnight on a Wednesday. Do you mind?”</p><p>A sheepish Kendall mumbles excuses and shuffles towards the elevator. Roman lingers, one finger hooked around her brass door knocker.</p><p>“Dude. Roman. Let’s go.”</p><p>Roman lifts his eyes to Gerri’s, quick and fleeting, before looking away. The toecaps of his Ferragamos have hypnotised him. “Don’t go with them,” he says quietly.  “C’mon. It makes too much sense to… You should stay.”</p><p>She wishes she could reach forward and touch him. Pat his cheek and tell him to hold on. <em>There, there</em>. <em>It all works out in the end</em>.</p><p>She doesn’t, this time. Kendall is watching, and her mind is on something else. An idea is germinating like a snowdrop pushing through the cold, hard ground of winter.</p><p>***</p><p>Nan Pierce looks nothing but delighted when Gerri settles into the seat opposite her. It’s a restaurant that Gerri picked blindly out of <em>Martha Stewart Living</em> (in other words, she tossed the magazine at her assistant and told him to make reservations at the first place that would accept) and she just hopes they serve good brandy.</p><p>“Wolfgang Puck is a dear, <em>dear</em> old friend of the family.” Nan pronounces it as <em>T</em>he <em>F</em>amily, the way people do when talking about her clan. “I always like to give him business when I’m in the city.”</p><p>Gerri examines the gilded letters of the menu. “Mm. It’s very nice.”</p><p>Nan’s laughter is polite, incredulous and genuinely amused all at once. “Well, I’m glad I could be of service. I don’t often come across conservatives I can stand to break bread with.”</p><p>Dinner service is in full swing around them, and a waiter carries a basket of bread rolls to the next table. They look like they were baked out of cotton. <em>Definitely</em> a good choice; there might be a promotion in this for her assistant after all. (Too bad for him that he fucked up the Calloway Motors deal beyond repair.) Thinking about work helps distract her from the fact that Nan Pierce has her chin resting on one hand, and a glint in her eye that makes her look like a benevolent Lady Tremaine.</p><p>The scrutiny would have otherwise made a flush creep up Gerri’s cheeks if she hadn’t come here solely for business.</p><p>“Did you want to order?” she asks Nan over the top of her menu, refusing to throw the first punch.</p><p>“I believe that’s the prerogative of the host.”</p><p>“Deal. Just as long as we don’t have to say grace. Or recite Shakespeare.”</p><p>Nan’s answering smile is inscrutable. If Gerri hadn’t actually met the Pierces, she might have thought the whole ritual was something they (The Family) had made up to fuck with Waystar.</p><p>The waiter is flagged; entrées are ordered; glasses are filled. Gerri finds her Chablis to be excellent. Nan asks after Logan’s health with clinical courtesy, and doesn’t really want to hear about how Shiv’s doing. (Trying to find a good lawyer for her father, for one. Putting her wedding ring in soap water and using her Waystar e-mail account to see if Tom has clocked in any official activity for another. Gerri has a friend down in the IT trenches who tells her things.) As they cycle through all the acceptable topics of conversation, the question comes like clockwork: <em>And how are </em>you <em>doing</em>.</p><p>“Well enough,” says Gerri. “You’re not going to insult me by, say, offering to negotiate a JV between Waystar and PMG, are you?”</p><p>Nan’s cat-like smile curves wider. “I think we have too much <em>mutual respect</em> for me to do that. Besides, I can’t escape answering to shareholders either. Buying another company for pennies on the dollar isn’t the kind of return-on-investment our people are looking for.”</p><p>Gerri doesn’t even blink.</p><p>“I’m <em>joking</em>,” says Nan. “Really, I’m only joking. You didn’t reach out just to talk shop, did you?”</p><p><em>No</em>.<em> I called because it was easier than looking under ‘P’ in the White Pages</em>.</p><p>“Of course not,” says Gerri. “The reason really is that there’s a production of <em>A Winter’s Tale</em> in Central Park this weekend. Helen Mirren’s going to be Hermione. The company usually gives me tickets for two for these culture things. I thought I’d switch it up a bit this year.”</p><p>Nan takes a contemplative sip of her scotch. “You mean, by taking a woman with you, or taking a date at all?”</p><p><em>By showing up in the first place</em>.</p><p>“Not much interested in the latter, if we’re being honest, but I always think Shakespeare’s more interesting when you take it in with a frenemy. You never know if you’ll get stabbed in the back before the third act.”</p><p>Nan’s laugh echoes heartily through the restaurant. “I’ll be sure to bring my knives.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Karolina, you still have my tickets on hold, right?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“I want them.”</p><p>“You do? I didn’t know you, um. Sure. No problem.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me I’ve left you flabbergasted. I go out. I do things. I have a social life, thank you very much.”</p><p>“No, it’s just that… There’s a kind of betting pool every year.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t tell me I upset your apple cart.”</p><p>“Well, it wasn’t <em>you</em>. No offence. I just had money on someone else.”</p><p>*</p><p>If there’s a God up there, she must hate rednecks. Gerri’s sister crocheted that pearl of wisdom, had it framed, and hung it up in her dorm room at Brown. Now, decades later, the idea of divine persecution doesn’t seem so farfetched anymore.</p><p>This is the problem when a company buys tickets for employees: they buy in bulk, and they buy a block of seats. Elbow-to-elbow. Knee-to-knee. The ends of Nan Pierce’s jauntily tied silk scarf can tickle the tip of Roman’s eponymous nose, that’s how close they’re sitting. Gerri doesn’t like it. In one evening, Shakespeare, Central Park and the great outdoors have all been ruined.</p><p>She suffers behind a strained smile as Nan shakes Roman’s hand and makes pleasant small talk. When Roman looks away, Nan’s eyebrows hike all the way up to her hairline.</p><p>“I know,” murmurs Gerri apologetically. “Coincidences are the devil.”</p><p>“I understand the problem all too well. In fact, here’s one of mine… that’s an old acquaintance over there. Let me go say hello.”</p><p>Nan nearly leaves Road Runner-like skid marks in her haste to avoid the building awkwardness.</p><p>Roman is lounging in his seat, feet put up against the back of the seat in front of him. He glances in Gerri’s direction, mouth lopsided in smirk. She can’t really put in her Air Pods and listen to some soothing Mendelssohn to avoid him.</p><p>“Oh, Roman. Good to… see you here.”</p><p>“Puh-<em>lease</em>. Karolina told me you knew.”</p><p>“She didn’t tell me <em>you</em> cared about Shakespeare.”</p><p>Shrug. Shuffle. Kick. “Anything to make it look like we’re not <em>Neanderthals</em>. A little culture can give our image the boost it needs.”</p><p>“And it was completely coincidental that you decided to come after I went out to lunch with Nan Pierce.” Someone who <em>really</em> can’t be trusted to keep other people’s secrets.</p><p>“Hey. I have things to do besides keep one ear glued to the water cooler. I’ll have you know that COO is a <em>very</em> demanding job.”</p><p>“Maybe you should go back to it, then.”</p><p>“I could say the same for you, General Counsel. Aren’t you supposed to, like, <em>counsel</em> me about my best course of action?”</p><p>“Here’s some advice, Roman. God helps those who help themselves.”</p><p>*</p><p>Helen Mirren is sublime on stage, but the dialogue is sometimes hard to follow. Frank has definitely been overselling the Bard’s appeal all these years. Good for Shakespeare to have written it all in the iambic pentameter, and without ever crossing out a single line, if the stories are to be believed. But Gerri likes vintage in her wine, not in her entertainment.</p><p>Nan, leaning forward in her seat, has eyes only for the stage. On her other side, Roman is almost nodding off.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Mole Woman (09:15)</strong> You look like it’s past bedtime for you.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:16)</strong> Are you kidding me? Your prune of a date’s not beating me in the stamina department tonight.<br/><strong>Mole Woman (09:16)</strong> It’s not a competition.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:17)</strong> It is /so/ a competition. This is gladiators. Some nutfuck’s gonna stand up any second now and announce ‘I AM SPARTACUS’.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:19)</strong> She make an offer yet?<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:19)</strong> They must be drooling at PGM.<br/><strong>Mole Woman (09:22)</strong> Or angling for payback after we poached Rhea.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:21)</strong> Fuck that noise.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:21)</strong> She fired Rhea. That score is settled.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:22)</strong> She wants YOU because you’re not a total shitshow. Workwise.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:23)</strong> She’d want you even if you didn’t work for Waystar.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:29)</strong> She would, you know. Waystar’s like the least impressive thing in your resume.<br/><strong>Rock Star (09:29)</strong> <em>User has deleted this message.</em></p>
</blockquote><p>*</p><p>Gerri used to keep a notebook back in the days when Baird was alive, and regular couples counselling was keeping him that way. She’d write it down and underline every time he used the word <em>difficult</em>. And the most difficult thing about Gerri is that she knows her worth. It was the fulcrum of the negotiations when Logan had her headhunted from Exxon. She hadn’t graduated top of her class at Northwestern for nothing.</p><p>And she knows what Waystar owes her: a seat on the Board. A bigger block of shares. More paid vacation days. A better title to accompany the pay hikes that the company has been shovelling at her all these years, hoping to snow her in with money. A raise is just another way of spelling ‘N-D-A’.</p><p>She knows that PMG will jump at the chance to offer her what Waystar can’t. Hell, anybody that ATN has robbed airspace from, will. She just has to walk into Bloomberg Inc.</p><p>She’s the medieval contessa, and yet she’s letting the perfectly nice Prussian Archduke drop her home without demur. Nan’s power window rolls down at the touch of a button, and her smile doesn’t touch her eyes.</p><p>“Promise me you’ll call if you change your mind about your stock options.”</p><p>Gerri can only press her lips together regretfully and nod.</p><p>In every situation, there is a right call and a wrong one. She hates not knowing which one she’s just made.</p><p>***</p><p>On Monday morning, Gerri picks up the office intercom and dials Roman’s extension. “Put some sheets of paper in a folder, look official, and come see me.”</p><p>Five minutes later, he waltzes in wearing a pair of Ray-Ban aviators indoors, and possibly more hair gel than usual. It’s hard to tell if it was a touch-up or he left the house looking like that. He’s going to put a new meaning to the phrase “halt and catch fire” if he isn’t careful.</p><p>“Where’re we going, boss?” He mimes removing a toothpick from his teeth. The whole charade is at grotesque odds with his tailored Tom Ford suit.</p><p>Gerri leans back in her straight-backed chair and points for him to sit.</p><p>“We’re going to be meeting Stewy. It’s going to take some prepping.”</p><p>Roman toes the chair free of the desk, and sprawls into it. “And me looking like a douchebag is going to make him mistake me for Ken, and that’s how we lower his guard?”</p><p>She pauses to consider this. “That’s a step up from my original plan, sure.” In elaboration, she holds up the original copy of the company’s charter. The yellowed papers have been fattened with many, many subsequent amendments paperclipped to it.</p><p>“<em>That’s </em>the plan,” he asks.</p><p>She tells him about it in detail. His answering grin is ear-to-ear.</p><p>“You know, Ken once nearly got kicked out of college because he and his frat bros went on a panty raid in the girls’ dorm. If Stewy likes looking up people’s skirts so much, let’s flash the motherfucker.”</p><p>*</p><p>Stewy Hosseini is a millennial in the way that Kendall tries very hard to be. He’s unfailingly courteous, and he’s a snappy dresser. He insists on the meeting happening in their office, ready to show he’s confident even on their home turf. His tasteful turtleneck and houndstooth blazer excludes noncommittal smugness.</p><p>“One day we’re going to have to stop meeting like this,” he says ruefully. “But I’m going to miss this whole dance when we do.”</p><p>Roman tilts his head and offers up a sarcastic little smile. “Oh, would you be more comfortable if we were mainlining coke in a public bathroom together?”</p><p>“Sure,” replies Stewy. “If that’s how you do business at Waystar.”</p><p>Gerri pretends to fiddle with the AC remote of the conference room so she doesn’t have to wade in and separate the fighting dogs. When it’s a suitably pleasant temperature, she passes Stewy a notarised copy of the latest Board resolution. She watches him read it.</p><p>Roman is not-s0-subtly watching <em>her</em>, lip caught between his teeth. That expression of his might be describable as “heart eyes” but she pretends she doesn’t see.</p><p>This is The Moment. This is not the time for distractions.</p><p>Stewy puts down the resolution at last, tapping his finger over an innocuous line at the bottom. “This wasn’t there before,” he says. “<em>It is further resolved to inform all shareholders, by way of abundant caution, that the acceleration clause in the company’s charter may be triggered</em>?” Scepticism drips from every word. “Bullshit. There <em>is</em> no acceleration clause.”</p><p>“Well, your reading comprehension can’t be all that good if you missed it,” says Roman with more than a socially acceptable amount of pleasure.</p><p>Stewy doesn’t even glance in his direction.</p><p>“Ma’am, you know this does not, and <em>will not</em>, hold water under scrutiny.”</p><p>“Gerri, could you, ah, pass me a copy of that?” Roman points to the charter sitting on her side of the table, and she hands it over to him. “Much obliged.”</p><p>For a simmering moment, there is only the sound of Roman flipping pages while Stewy stares steadily at her. Gerri doesn’t want to get dragged into a contest of who’ll blink first. She takes off her glasses, and discreetly starts to polish them under the table.</p><p>“Aha!” crows Roman, holding up an amendment. He reads it aloud, going a mile a minute: “<em>As and when a material event occurs to alter the ownership or control of the company, all unvested stock options vest automatically and </em>must<em> be paid to the employees</em>.”</p><p>He holds up a professorial finger, drawing the minute out for what it’s worth. And then he continues reading:</p><p>“Provided<em> that ‘material event relating to the ownership or control of the company’ will not include an event where a member of the Roy family steps down from a leadership role, provided that two-fifths of the composition of the senior management remains unchanged before and after said material event</em>. That, I believe, is what the suits call an <em>acceleration</em> clause.”</p><p>He glances up from the page at Stewy, and if looks could kill, Roman would be an amused heap of ash on the conference table just then.</p><p>“There’s definitions of ‘leadership role’ and ‘senior management’ somewhere in here too. Gerri’s highlighted it for me.” Roman shakes the papers, revealing a flutter of neon yellow inking. “In simple terms, if you or Sandy take over this company, you’ll be the ones making pay-outs to all our shareholders.”</p><p>“And as you’re well aware,” demurs Gerri, “we have quite a lot of those.”</p><p>“Not to mention employees,” chimes in Roman. “<em>All</em> the employees who’ll be cashing in their stock options and exiting because a fat sack of cash is way better than staying in business under you jackals.”</p><p>“This,” repeats Stewy, “is bullshit. You don’t have the approval to insert that into the charter.”</p><p>“Actually,” says Gerri pleasantly, “we do. That ‘bullshit’ has been ratified by a two-thirds majority. So if you’re still interested in acquiring, that means you’re going to be buying a company of idiots.”</p><p>“It’s all there in black and white,” says Roman. He gestures with both hands at the heap of papers between them. “You can take it to court, of course. Great idea. Then <em>we</em> snow <em>you</em> in with our lawyers, and this acquisition will be put in limbo for the next couple of years, while we stay in business and ATN makes us enough profit to keep paying for our lawyers. It’s called the circle jerk of life.”</p><p>Stewy’s voice comes out low and tightly controlled. “The charter is clear about the process of amendment. This amendment didn’t get voted on.”</p><p>Gerri slides a copy of last Monday’s <em>FT</em> across the table. <em>Waystar Royco Shareholder Meeting Postponed</em>, says a headline on the front page. “We had a vote. As you’ll notice. Postal ballot and everything.”</p><p>“I’m sure we can find yours somewhere in our archives if we look,” says Roman. “Your signature might even be on it.”</p><p>“I read that piece of paper,” says Stewy with dangerous calm, “and I know what it said. There. Was. <em>No</em>. Acceleration clause.”</p><p>Roman’s smile shows all his teeth. “You wanna bet?”</p><p>***</p><p>Afterwards, Gerri gives herself permission to leave office early. Roman does too, but he owns the company. It’s not the same for him. He offers her a lift home in his town car, and she accepts because the backseat is possibly the only place where they can openly talk about what they just did.</p><p>“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe that worked,” he Roman. “I thought he’d come at us for fraud and forgery.”</p><p>It’s not actually fraud. Stewy isn’t wrong: the postal ballots that went out don’t mention an acceleration clause anywhere. If someone were to go round up the ballots that shareholders didn’t mail back, they’d find the original language plain and clear.</p><p>However, getting a notary public to sign a false Board resolution and being in possession of a falsified charter amendment will probably land them in country club white collar prison. Cushy as it sounds, Gerri isn’t keen on living upstate as a guest of the Governor.</p><p>“I think this suits him as much as it suits us,” says Gerri. “Stewy’s not an idiot. After what happened with Cruises, Waystar isn’t a good target for acquisition anymore. I’m not sure if Sandy sees that, but Stewy certainly does.” She thinks that’s why he voted (on the <em>real</em> ballot) for postponing the shareholder meeting. He doesn’t want this proxy fight to come to a head just yet. “We just had to give him a face-saving way out of this.”</p><p>Roman clicks his teeth, frowning. “So, we bluffed him. Who’s to say we can do the same to Sandy?”</p><p>Gerri silently pulls out the two sheets of paper that she’s been keeping warm in her pocket all this time. Ballots. For the proposal to insert an acceleration clause into the Company’s charter.</p><p>Stewy’s vote is a big <em>X</em> followed by a <em>:)</em></p><p>Sandy: an unambiguous ✓</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>@atnnews </strong>Corporate Raider Sandy Furness announces he’s putting Waystar Royco acquisition on hold: “It’s a toxic company with little return on investment.” Sour grapes, Mr. Furness? Full story: http://on.atn.com/2LTg7kw</p>
</blockquote><p>***</p><p>Gerri puts her feet up on the coffee table and picks up the TV remote. Actually paying for network television makes her a relic in the age of Netflix, but there’s something comforting about the talking heads on ATN. The only sound in her apartment is Anna Newman’s voice, gently turning over the ramifications of Sandy Furness’s decision.</p><p>Turns out that post-game coverage is not so exciting when you’re dripping sweat from having been in the field all this time.</p><p>She aimlessly flips through the channels, pausing at Hallmark but only because Dolly Parton’s show is on.</p><p>When her phone rings, she’s almost reluctant to answer.</p><p>“Told you we make a good team,” Roman says by way of greeting.</p><p>Possibly a better team than Gerri and her brandy, or so a case might be made. She makes it a point to check the time—it’s barely been three hours since they last saw each other. But she’s not so cold-blooded that she doesn’t want to go over the play-by-play. Prolong the moment to savour it.</p><p>She mutes the TV.  “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t gloat in Stewy’s face.”</p><p>“Yeah, and I told Shiv when we were seven that I’d let her practice brain surgery on me. You can’t hold me to <em>every</em> ridiculous thing I’ve ever said.”</p><p>Rap music is blasting in the background, and the sound of it ebbs and flows as Roman paces in and out of what must be Kendall’s apartment. They’ve just won a resounding victory. He shouldn’t be this strung up on the edge.</p><p>“It was good work today.” She softens her tone. “You’re getting the hang of the job.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” She can almost hear Roman smile. “These shakedowns are getting to be my favourite part.”</p><p>“You mean like how you tried to get the Board to go along with Brian?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “<em>Brian</em>. Yay for Brian.”</p><p>Gerri’s sock-clad feet slip off the coffee table of their own accord. She drifts lower into the couch, fading into the soft embrace of her pillows. “I’m not so sure about Brian,” she says musingly. “So far, his only credit has been coming up with a carnival ride. As CEO, I have veto power on promotions. I mean, I’m CEO on paper but I’m <em>still</em> the CEO.”</p><p>Roman sucks in a sharp breath.</p><p>“How dare you,” he says after a moment. “Brian is a <em>gem</em>. An uncut diamond. He could be in a fucking Adam Sandler movie. He’s <em>great </em>at what he does.”</p><p>“I’ll think about it. Remind me to mention it to Karolina on Monday.”</p><p>“<em>Monday</em>? Today’s Monday.”</p><p>“Well, next Monday then. Haven’t you heard I’m taking the week off? It’s been a long day.”</p><p>A week will give Karolina time to fish out the piece of paper that names her CEO. Leak it to the press. Prepare a statement. A week means that Maintenance will have enough time to stencil the additional letters on the door of Gerri’s corner office.</p><p><em>CEO &amp; General Counsel</em>. A girl could get used to that.</p><p>The gears are turning contemplatively in Roman’s head. “Hey, if you’re that tired, then maybe I could… I dunno… come over. Help you take the edge off. Draw you a hot bath. Drop some bath bombs. Get you all sudsy—”</p><p>“Roman,” breaks in Gerri, exasperated. “Don’t be disgusting.”</p><p>There is a slow little sigh on the other end of the line, and the metallic clink of Roman undoing the buckle of his belt.</p><p>“Oh, for the love of Pete,” she snaps over the downward slide of his zipper, but she’s smiling as she says it. She closes her eyes and sinks down amid the pillows.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Current title is from <i>A Winter’s Tale</i>. Original title that I really, really wanted: “Exit, Pursued By A Bear”.</p><p>Written for <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot">LearnedFoot</a> for Yuletide. Belated holiday greetings! I tried to put in as much of your letter as I could, especially the idea of Gerri (inevitably) backstabbing Roman one day. This fic is an exploration of Gerri and very much about her relationship with Roman, but I couldn’t resist bringing in Kendall’s relationship with Roman.  (It’s the backbone of Season 2, and that is the hill I will die on.)</p><p>A lot of love and thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakeplasticlily">fakeplasticlily</a>, my unpaid beta reader, whom I drag along from fandom to fandom.</p><p>All boardroom politics are based on Google, Investopedia, and my second-hand information from sitting next to the person who handles mergers &amp; acquisitions at work. And if you want the highlight reel of Roman’s inability to sit properly in a chair, go <a href="https://chasing-givenchy.tumblr.com/post/188182856911/misskamala-roman-roy-not-sitting-normally">here</a>.</p><p>Also worth noting that I know her name is “Rava”. But does Gerri? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p></blockquote></div></div>
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